


A Time of War

by cathcer1984



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Hurt/Comfort, Inaccurate Setting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Misunderstandings, Mute Derek Hale, The Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Warning: Kate Argent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 11:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21243014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathcer1984/pseuds/cathcer1984
Summary: Stiles is the son of a Warden Lord, he knows his place is to marry another Warden Lord. Until the Argent Realm starts a war with Hale Kingdom, wiping out most of the Hale royal family.To secure an alliance and Warden Lord Stilinski's soldiers, Prince Regent Hale demands a marriage contract with Stiles.





	A Time of War

**Author's Note:**

> The draft title of this was 'inaccurate olden times au'. Which basically sums it up. 
> 
> Some clarifying if you need it:  
Hale Kingdom have knights.  
Clan Martin have Warriors.  
Argent Realm have fighters.
> 
> And all Warden Lords have soldiers.

Stiles had always known his place. As the only son of a Warden Lord he had to make a safe marriage that would keep the peace for all three kingdoms. He would marry the daughter of one of another Warden Lord, Lady Malia Tate. She was strange, wild in a way Stiles was unaccustomed to. Though they'd met four or five times Stiles knew he could grow to care for her, maybe even love her.

Then the war came.

Argent Realm attacked Hale Kingdom. It was bloody, underhanded and wiped out most of the royal family.

The attack left only the Prince Regent, Crown Prince and Princess alive.

Almost immediately Clan Martin aligned with the Hale Kingdom. The three kingdoms were at war.

Warden Lord McCall came to visit Warden Lord Stiliniski, Stiles' father, about two months after the first attack. Each of the Warden Lords looked after the border between two of the kingdoms. Warden Lord McCall protected the Hale-Argent border, Warden Lord Tate the Hale-Martin border and Warden Lord Stilinski the Martin-Argent border.

Warden Lords McCall and Stilinski would be tipping points, whomever their troops were sent to fight with would bolster the armies of that Regency.

Stiles greeted his best friend, Scott McCall son of the Warden Lord McCall, with a sombre expression and a tight hug. They watched silently as Scott's mother, another man, and Stiles' father disappeared into the council room.

"What news?" Stiles asked his friend.

Scott glanced around and shook his head. His meaning clear, not here too many ears. Inclining his head Stiles lead the way swiftly to his room, no prying eyes or ears there.

"Hale Kingdom need troops and supplies. The Prince Regent is no fighter but he's a strategist." Scott wasted no time when the door was shut firmly behind them. "Mother has been sent on his behalf to arrange an agreement between your border and Hale."

"Why?" Stiles flicked at some loose pages on his desk. "We look after the Martin border."

"Martin and Argent." Scott pointed out. "After the Argents' attack-" Scott's voice lowered even more to a harsh whisper "- it was awful, in the middle of the night the set the castle on fire and the only reason we know it was Argent because Princess Katherine woke the Crown Prince and laughed as he raised the alarm. It was almost too late."

"Fuck." Stiles was disgusted.

"Yeah. The Prince Regent wants more than just loyalty to Clan Martin. He was guaranteed loyalty to Hale."

Suddenly it dawned on Stiles who the third person going into his father's study was, Sir Alan Deaton the Hale's advisor. "Ah." Stiles knew what was going to happen now. "I'm insurance."

Scott's face turned sad, as he nodded.

"Show me," Stiles tugged maps out of his drawers and flattened them down with shaky hands. Scott gripped his shoulder in comfort. "Show me where they attacked, where the borders are weak and where battles are happening."

**

It seemed an age and as if no time had passed before Stiles was called into his father's study.

"Stiles." He started and stopped seemingly at a loss, his face sad and strained.

"I'm going to the Hale Kingdom aren't I?"

"Not if you don't want to but..."

"They won't trust us if I don't go, I'm an insurance that you won't suddenly turn to help Argent Realm."

Stiles watched as his father scrubbed his face. "It's worse than than just your going to to Hale Kingdom, Stiles."

"How so?"

"The Prince Regent has demanded you marry a Hale." His father shrugged helplessly. "I haven't agreed to it, of course. Not without your agreement, however; I can renegotiate if you don't wish to -"

"I'll do it." Stiles held up a hand stalling his father's words. "I was always going to be married off, I know my place. Which Hale? The Crown Prince or Princess?"

"The Prince Regent."

Freezing in place Stiles stared at his father. "What?" His voice was high pitched and he cleared his throat and tried again "what?"

"You're the son of a Warden Lord, Stiles and an Argent Realm one at that."

"Not important enough to marry the Crown Prince and the Princess is already betrothed to Princess Lydia of Clan Martin."

"Melissa let it slip privately-" Stiles knew that meant she'd said it in a post-coital haze. "-that the Prince Reagent would trust you in his bed and no one else's."

_Because he's also expendable,_ Stiles thought. _Willing to sacrifice himself if it comes down to it._

"I'll do it." Stiles said. "We must stop the Argent Realm and if I have to marry Prince Regent Hale then so be it."

"If you are sure."

Nodding once, firmly, Stiles saw the pride in his father's face. He was making this choice for the good of the three kingdoms.

**

"Tell me about him."

"He's old." Scott ducked as Stiles threw a bread roll at him across the table. "He is. He's about double our age. Mid-thirties at least."

"How come he never married?" Stiles asked.

"He was the Queen's brother. There is talk of a dalliance he had with the Warden Lord Tate's wife. Nine months or so before Lady Malia was born."

Stiles choked on a sip of water he'd just taken. Spluttering and spitting he gaped at Scott. "So instead of marrying the daughter I get the father."

Scott shrugged. "He had bedded men and women alike, royals and servants. He charms them to his bed once or twice and moves on to the next."

"Lucky me" Stiles mutters bitterly.

"At least you know the wedding night will be tolerable. He'll know how to make it good." Scott suggested.

"Except I've not been charmed into his bed have I? I've been sent there to make sure my father and his troops do as promised."

Scott reached out a hand in sympathy, Stiles clutched at his fingers. "It will be alright, Stiles. You're smart, maybe you can charm him first."

Snorting with derision and self-deprecation Stiles appreciated his friend's attempt to cheer him up. "I better go and pack my things. Father says I must be ready to leave at dawn."

"Want help?" Scott, bless him, knew Stiles well enough to know that he wants to be alone and wallow but is kind enough to offer his company anyway.

"No thanks. Just-" Stiles stopped at the doorway "-what should I call him? The Prince Regent." He clarifies unnecessarily.

"Well, mother calls him a scoundrel, Lady Allison calls him cruel, the Crown Prince calls him Uncle."

"Scott!"

Grinning Scott holds up both hands. "You know his name Stiles."

"Peter." Stiles says feeling a weight on his chest. The burden he must now bear, a husband who will not love him, who will bed multiple others and keep Stiles as an assurance with his father.

Scott's mouth turns up in sympathy. Stiles walks away without another word.

**

Stiles didn’t pack many things. Clothes, formal and informal, his maps - official and ones he’d made himself by talking with soldiers and through his own exploring of the borders his Warden protected. He puts his books of strategy in his case, then carefully wrapped a small portrait of his mother in one of her tunics. Stiles took a moment to lift the fabric to his lips and inhale deeply chasing the last echoes of her perfume. 

Looking around the room Stiles decided he would likely have access to ink and quills at Hale Kingdom but he rolled all his notes and writings up and slotted them into his case. He was ready. 

A knock sounded on the door. 

“Come in,” he called. 

A maid timidly entered with a half curtsey before she handed him a bundle wrapped in soft, plain cotton and tied together with a coarse cord. “Thank you,” Stiles murmured and she scurried away, door shut firmly behind her. 

Curious, Stiles opened the package. It was a luxurious robe of soft white fabric that cascaded over his fingers, it had a gold trim in an intricate pattern along all edges. There were small white buttons at the front from neck to knee. Long white socks and a pair of gold shoes, Stiles knew from stories they were the same ones his father had worn. 

Traditionally Stiles shouldn’t wear the outfit before his marriage ceremony. He had never been one for following rules that didn’t suit him. Tradition was merely an excuse to avoid change, he’d always thought. Quickly pulling his tunic off and shoving his trousers to the floor Stiles put his arms in the long sleeves and tugged the soft fabric over his shoulders. 

He did up a couple of buttons but they were too small and fiddly so he didn’t bother with the rest before standing in front of the looking glass in the corner of his room. He smoothed the front of the material and did up some more buttons in front of his groin. A soft knock came and before Stiles could even start to unbutton the blasted robe the door opened and his father slipped inside. 

His father froze when he saw Stiles. He closed the door softly and moved forward, eyes glistening in the low candle light. 

“I apologise, Father, I know I shouldn’t-”

“You look beautiful, son.” His father settled his hands on Stiles’ shoulders. “So much like your mother. This was her robe.” Stiles stared at his father and then looked at himself again. Warden Lord tradition dictated that both parties in the marriage wore white robes. 

“It was mother’s?” Stiles’ voice was fragile.

“You’re too small for mine. The tailor let out the shoulders but otherwise a perfect fit.” There was a dampness to his cheeks as he ran a hand over Stiles’ hair. “She would have been so proud of the man you are. Just as I am.” 

Stiles turned and hugged his father tightly. “I love you, father.” 

“And I love you, son.” He pulled back and gripped Stiles on the shoulders. “Never forget that. Don’t let those in Hale Kingdom push you around, you’re smart and you know strategy better than most advisors I have seen. Remember I am only a letter away.” 

“I know. I won’t let you or the Kingdom down, Father.” 

“And that scares me.” His father’s face was serious. “You’ll do anything for your people and the Kingdoms as is your right as a Warden Lord’s son but make sure you do the _right_ thing for them.” 

“I will.” 

They hugged once more, long and hard before Stiles pulled back harshly rubbing his face with his hands. 

“I’ll let you get out of this and rest, you have a long journey ahead of you tomorrow.” Stiles nodded, wanting to say so much in response and not knowing what to say first. His father beat him to it. “I’m sorry I won’t get to see your wedding, Mieczysław.” 

“I understand, there is a war going on.” 

“I will see you soon, Stiles. Don’t forget to write.”

“You too.” Stiles watched, with a lump in his throat as his father left the room with damp cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. He hoped it wasn’t going to be the last time they saw each other, but there were no guarantees in war.

**

Dawn came quicker than Stiles wanted it to. He’d carefully wrapped up his wedding robe and placed it in his case, dressed in a nightshirt and tried to rest. His mind wouldn’t stop and Stiles eventually gave up trying. He put on riding breeches, a soft shit and comfortable brown leather boots and sat waiting for the maid to wake him. 

Sooner than he wanted to be Stiles was seated on his horse, Roscoe, and with Scott on his left, Sir Deaton on his right and two soldiers alongside a wagon with his case. With a click of his tongue and a twitch of the reins Stiles was on his way to his new life; with a new husband, in a new home, in the middle of a war. 

What could possibly go wrong? 

**

Famous last words, Stiles thought to himself. He was saddle sore, tired, hungry, cold and grumpy. He was covered in from, from falling when he’d dismounted to relieve himself his legs had been like jelly. He was used to riding, but not for five hours at a punishing pace. 

Hale Kingdom was colder than Stiles was used to. It rained a lot, Stiles noticed that in the first hour he’d been there since crossing Warden Lord Tate’s border. He was soaked and shivering, by the time they came to the castle. 

Stiles slowed his horse to a stop as he looked up in amazement. Hale Kingdom’s castle was bigger than Clan Martin’s, it was made of grey stone. Had turrets and battlements, men with bows and arrows placed strategically along the rooftops. One turret, the largest and tallest, stood proudly in the centre and it was black and charred from the fire. 

Swallowing heavily Stiles felt sick. That was why he was here, why he was marrying a stranger, a _Hale_ instead of Lady Tate. 

“Stiles?” Scott asked hesitantly. He was hard to hear over the thundering rain. “You alright?” 

“I am fine. Let us get inside and give the horses a break.” 

They moved forward to reach the gate. The sun had nearly set, the torches were lit and they had been travelling all day. Still, Stiles knew there was protocol and strong suspicion of five men and a case. 

“Lord McCall,” a soldier- _knight_ Stiles reminded himself, _Warden Lords have soldiers, Kingdoms have knights_ \- called cheerfully. “Lovely day for a ride.” 

“Indeed it is, Sir Isaac.” Scott grinned, teeth looking extra white against his muddy face. “I have the Prince Regents future husband, as promised.” 

The knight, Isaac, turned his face impassively onto Stiles. His face split into an unwelcome sneer, “Him? Really? The Prince Regent is going to hate him.” 

“Isaac!” Scott hissed. 

Closing his eyes Stiles took in a deep breath, drawing on his training to maintain is posture and his poise. “Shall I turn back now then?” Stiles stared down hard at the knight, “Offer my hand and my soldiers to the Argent Realm. If I am to be so hated here?” 

“No, my lord.” Isaac gulped, even Stiles could see how his rosy cheeks had paled. “I was out of line, forgive me lord.” 

“Let us in.” Sir Deaton commanded. Stiles passed by Isaac neither acknowledging nor accepting the apology. 

The gate was opened and Stiles rode his horse inside after Sir Deaton, Scott a few paces behind him. “Ignore Isaac, Stiles he’s jealous. That’s all it is.” 

“Jealous?” Stiles turned to Scott.

Scott shifted in his saddle. His face uncomfortable under all the mud and rain. 

“Ah, a conquest of my husband to be.” Stiles realised he’d probably be running into a few of those. “Where are the stables?” Stiles changed the subject aware of all the eyes and ears around him. There were people rushing about but no one to greet them. 

Sir Deaton dismounted and left his horse in the courtyard, it trotted away before some took it’s reins leading it to a wooden building across the courtyard. The same one Scott was pointing at “over there are the stables.” 

He then led the way, waving and greeting people as they passed by. Scott was known here, and well liked too. As soon as they reached the stable a boy came out and took the reins of Scott’s horse, Scott dismounted and soon the boy and horse were gone. No one came out for Stiles’. 

“I’ll let them know we have arrived.” Scott grinned, and sauntering off. The soldiers following him with Stiles’ case. 

Stiles watched them go before dismounting, he led Roscoe into the stables. “Hello?” Stiles called out, no one came. Pursing his lips Stiles found an empty stall, backed Roscoe into it and set about taking off the saddle and bridle then he started grooming Roscoe. 

Pulling his wet shirt from his skin Stiles wiped his muddy face on the already ruined fabric. “Okay, boy, let’s get you settled for the night.” Roscoe nuzzled Stiles’ shoulder before trotting towards a water bucket for a drink. 

When Stiles was halfway through grooming Roscoe he noticed he had an audience. An older man, attractive, well kept beard around his mouth and chin only. He had piercing blue eyes, a smirk flirting around the corners of his mouth, his black shirt was sticking to his well muscled chest where it had gotten wet in the rain. 

Ignoring the attractive stranger Stiles continued to brush down his horse and murmur words of praise to him. When he was done he put the brush back where he’d found it and moved towards the front of the stall. The strangers eyes flicked over Stiles’ body, improperly on display due to the wet clothes. 

“You must be Mieczysław,” his voice was softer than Stiles anticipated, but just as smug as his smirk suggested. 

“That would be me.” He puts his hands on his hips watching as the man’s gaze is drawing across his shoulders then settling on his groin for a long moment. “This is Roscoe.” 

At the sound of his name the horse whinnies and comes forward, head over Stiles’ shoulder. Reaching up a hand Stiles patted the side of Roscoe’s face, the man moved then. Power in his shoulders and legs as he strode forward in a few strides, he reached out a hand and let his fingers brush over Stiles’ collarbone while Roscoe ate from his palm. 

“What was that?” Stiles demanded. 

“Mouthy little thing, aren’t you?” The man was amused. “Relax, Warden Lord, it’s a sugar cube.” 

Frowning, Stiles repeated the words quietly. _Sugar cube._

“I brought one for you, no need to get jealous, darling.” He produced another cube from somewhere in his clothing. He held up between strong, thick fingers. It was white, little bits like sand breaking from the edges of the cube. Stiles took it and held it up to his face to sniff. The man licked his fingers, an amused expression on his face. 

“You eat this?” Stiles asked, “Or is it just for the horses?”

“Humans can eat it, sweetheart,” he pauses as if waiting for Stiles to put it in his mouth. Stiles gives it to Roscoe, the man looks both disappointed and amused. “Here at Hale, we tend to put it in hot tea to sweeten it.” 

Stiles licks the small white crystals from his palm. They are sweet but it is a strange texture. “We prefer honey,” Stiles says. “It comes from Clan Martin.” 

He holds out the hand he just licked and is surprised when the man takes it, grip firm and sure. “I’m Stiles.” 

The man raises an eyebrow. 

With a cheeky grin Stiles says “Mieczysław is for formal occasions. Though I am impressed with your pronunciation.” 

“Is your wedding not formal enough?” 

“Gods, no.” Stiles snorts. “If this was a formal wedding I wouldn’t be in Hale Kingdom and my father would be giving me away. I wouldn’t be marrying above my station for the price of five thousand soldiers, either. I wouldn’t have had to groom my own horse when the horse of a man of equal standing was taken away and groomed for him. I wouldn’t have been held at the gate by a jealous ex-lover of my betrothed.” Stiles squeezed the man’s hand hard enough for his cold fingers to ache and surprise to show on the face opposite him. “And my husband to be wouldn’t be greeting me in the stables, full of impropriety and flirtations. If this were a formal wedding, _Peter_, I wouldn’t be marrying you.” 

Peter’s surprise was quickly shadowed by lust and that then covered with appraisal. His mouth opened but no words came out, he seemed to be at a loss. Stiles was filled with pride for himself, and fury for the man in front of him. His lips moved into a sneer and he finally pulled his hand free from the warm grip. 

“I apologise, Mieczysław.” Peter bowed his head, no sign of mocking. “It was an improper way for me to greet you, even if the circumstances of our wedding are not ideal, that does not mean I should have abandoned all protocol.” 

Nodding once, Stiles accepted the apology. He eyed the Prince Regent warily. Peter smirked at him again. 

“You’re a pretty little thing, you know,” Peter said conversationally, as if he were discussing the weather.

As he stepped in closer to Peter, pleased to see that they were the same height, Stiles replied “I am not a thing.”

“You are.” Peter’s words stung more than his soft tone. “You are _thing_ traded in war. Like you said yourself, you are marrying above your station in return for five thousand men. You are a commodity, a bargaining chip.” Peter’s cold eyes blazed with something akin to anger. 

Stiles refused to step away or back down. “I am.” Stiles confirmed. “What I am not, however; is yours. Our contract is a business arrangement.” 

“Of marriage.” 

“Yes. I have to marry you. That is in the contract I signed.” 

Peter let out a huff of sardonic laughter. “I can’t wait for the wedding night, sweetheart.”

It was Stiles’ turn to smirk now. “Did you not read the contract Sir Deaton bought? There will be no wedding night. At least not between us. You can, as you often do according to rumor, get your dick wet with whomever you want. It just won’t be with me.” 

Peter’s face dropped, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, all traces of cockiness wiped away. “I made an amendment that Sir Deaton did not refuse. You will not bed me unless I agree to it. Our marriage does not need to be consummated because, Peter, it is a business contract first and foremost.”

They stared each other down. Until Stiles sighed, “I do request that any affairs you have are done with more discretion than what you have used in the past. We need to present a united front against the Argent Realm and any infidelity should be treated more delicately than you are used to.”

Peter watched Stiles with wide, blue eyes. Stiles moved passed him with a stroke down Roscoe’s nose. “I’ll just show myself around shall I?” Stiles said, voice full of scorn. 

“If you’ll follow me.” Peter offered, tone difficult to place. Stiles assumed he was angry or annoyed, either way he didn’t care. He made his way to the front of the stables and they hurried through the rain to doors of the main, burnt tower. “You’ll be staying here, where the family rooms are.” 

Inside was nothing like Stiles was accustomed too. It had stone walls and stairs to one side, lit by large candle holders with dozens of candles in each one. A serving girl was placing logs on the fire, she glanced up her blonde curls bouncing as her eyes skittered over Stiles’ wet form and then she shifted her gaze to look over Peter’s shoulder. 

“See that a bath is drawn for Lord Stilinski in his room,” Peter commanded. Stiles glanced at him, his whole demeanour had changed. He stood with his shoulders back, all that ease from the stables gone, head held high, face mostly impassive a hint of a sneer curled his lip. Peter’s tone was harsh and the serving girl stood quickly, curtseying and hurrying off through a door, so dark Stiles missed it amongst the stones. “This way.” Peter’s tone stayed as cold for Stiles as it was for girl. 

They made their way up the stairs to the first floor. “Your room is here,” Peter stopped at the first door on the left. “My room is next to it, my nephew’s room is this one opposite-” there was a subtle change in tone that had Stiles frowning but Peter continued on “- and my niece is that room further down.” 

Stiles nodded. “Thank you.” 

Peter’s head tilted so their eyes met. Stiles felt that gaze looking through him, assessing him and judging him in a way that hadn’t happened in the stables. There Stiles was Peter’s equal, now… now he was not. “There is a door between our rooms. It has been locked and the key is with Sir Deaton until our wedding night.” Peter’s sneer was obvious and Stiles flushed in shame. “Traditionally-” Peter stopped as the door opposite them opened. 

Stiles saw a dark head of hair, a full beard and light eyes before the man turned his back and went to the stairs with deliberately slow, soft steps as if he were preventing himself from running. Peter continued talking, voice louder and harder. “Traditionally, I would be upstairs in the family rooms and you would have joined me there after the wedding.” The other man, the Crown Prince, paused. Peter’s expression took on one of cruel pleasure. “Alas they are too blackened and burned to house anyone.” 

The Crown Prince flinched so hard he almost fell before steadying himself on the wall. Stiles waited until his footsteps faded before saying “was that necessary?”

“He knows what he has done.” Peter was impassive but his eyes furious.

“His family just died.” Stiles whispered harshly. 

“As did mine!” Peter snarled. 

“Forgive me, your highness,” Stiles turned his face down in shame. Peter gave him a long hard look and made his way to his room, door shut firmly behind him. For too long after Peter left him standing in the hallway Stiles glared at the door and then eventually entered his new room. 

His case was there already, a steaming bath was in front of a roaring fireplace. A large bed, a desk and chair were the only furniture. Stiles took a double look, in the corner was the blonde serving girl from downstairs. 

“Uh, hello.” Stiles waved awkwardly. “I’m Stiles.” 

She curtseyed. “Erica, my lord.” 

“Right.” Stiles nodded once and plucked at his wet shirt. “Well, I’m going to have a bath now.” 

She nodded, “yes my lord.” 

“I don’t need an audience.” 

Erica frowned, she opened her mouth and closed it again. Stiles smiled, “go on. Say whatever it is, you won’t offend me.” 

“It’s just, here in Hale we servants help the royal family bathe.” Erica eyed him up and down. “That doesn’t happen in your Warden?” 

“Nope. I usually do it myself. I am a grown man.” 

“I can see,” Erica leered, eyes on his groin before she slapped her hands over her mouth. “For-”

Stiles interrupted her apology with a loud laugh. “I think we’ll be good friends if you stop biting your tongue around me.” Stiles waited for her to smile back at him. “Do you have to stay, is that like protocol?”  
“I’m afraid so.” Erica took a step forward and then she tutted. “You’re too cold, my lord. You’re not even shivering.” She quickly and efficiently stripped him and pushed him closer to the fireplace before fiercely rubbing him down with a large soft fur. Soon enough his teeth were chattering and Erica deemed it safe enough to help him into the water. 

She dunked him under and came up spluttering. “You needed warm hair, my lord.” Erica grinned at him. He laughed again, feeling as if she could be a good friend. 

“Can you tell me about him?” Stiles asked. 

“The Prince Regent?” 

Stiles nodded, hoping she thought the redness in his cheeks was brought on by the heat of the water and not his embarrassment. “Be honest, please. Don’t hide things from me if you think I won’t want to hear it.”

“He’s a monster.” Erica said, her cheeks red but her eyes fierce and determined as she gazed steadily at Stiles. “He’s cruel with his words. He knows how to charm and how to cut somebody simply by speaking. If he finds a weakness he will search for another and another until he’s hoarding all of them like a dragon.” Erica gets more animated as she speaks finally free to say what she feels. Stiles sits in the warm water and listens. 

“Queen Talia was beloved. The Prince Regent is feared and hated among the servants and the peasants. His mind is fast and finds fun in playing games with people. He will bed you one day and forget you the next. He is a flirt, he will choose someone to chase until the end goal is achieved then he will dismiss them like waste.” 

Stiles shivered, not from the water but from Erica’s words. Still, he allowed her to help him out of the bath, dry him off and dress him in warm night clothes, a top and trousers so unlike his nightshirt at home. “We are waiting until Prince Derek has reached his twenty-fifth year, then he will be our King.” Erica said quiet but firm. “The Prince Regent … what do you know of the fire?”

“It was started by Princess Katherine of Argent Realm.” 

“She was being bedded by the Prince Regent.” Erica whispered, as if Peter was in the room with them and could hear. “She knew where the family rooms were, who was in which room and how to get out quickly. He bedded her and she burnt his family alive. It is a shame the fire did not take him as well.” 

Not wanting to believe what he is hearing, Stiles felt sick and clammy. He climbed under the bed furs and lay down. “I think I would like to sleep now, Erica.” 

“Of course, my lord. And if you have more questions simply ask. If you need me, or a servant, in the night pull this cord here.” She showed him a thick red cord that was next to a door. 

“Thanks Erica, and when we’re alone you may call me Stiles.” 

She smiled brightly, “goodnight Stiles.” Then she was gone behind the door and Stiles was left alone in a cold castle, with an equally cold husband to be. He wished he’d never agreed to this at all. 

**

The day of Stiles' wedding dawned pale and sickly grey. The promise of rain hung in the clouds. Erica woke him with hot tea and a bread roll claiming she could smell his nerves and figuring a little something would settle his stomach enough.

As per Hale Kingdom tradition they would be married at noon.

As with Warden Lord tradition they would spend the rest of the day alone together.

Unlike tradition for either there would be few guests, only Scott for Stiles and Peter would have Sir Deaton, the Crown Prince and Princess. A meal would be ready for them in Stiles' room, with the assumption that they would move to Peter's for the wedding night.

Erica picked up on Stiles' mood. "He's not all bad," she said. "I was awful about him last night. I should have told you his good points as well."

"You don't have to make me feel better, Erica. The marriage is arranged and will go ahead regardless of his cruelty or his kindness."

She let out an inelegant snort. "I never said he was kind. But he is loyal, intelligent, he will listen if you can prove yourself to be worth listening to. He will not beat nor hit you. He is fair, firm and unyielding but fair."

Stiles reached out to hold her hand. "Thank you."

"And if the rumours are to be believed he is a gracious lover and you will at least be deflowered by a seasoned gardener." She winked and Stiles laughed loudly.

A firm knock quietened it down to chuckles as Erica smoothed her smile while she opened the door. Her body language changed immediately. Erica's relaxed pose straightened and she curtseyed before.moving to stand by the servants door. Peter watched her go across the room with narrowed eyes. 

"May I come in?"

"Of course," Stiles stood from the chair and strode over to meet Peter near the doorway. In his hands he held a delicate circle of leaves, twigs and flowers.

"It is Hale tradition." Peter offered as he held out the flower crown. Stiles stroked a finger over a small purple flower. "I ask that you would wear this."

"I- alright." Stiles took the crown and his fingers brushed over Peter's warm skin.

"Thank you." Peter inclined his head. Stiles didn't know if he was mocking him or not. "I do not wish to intrude upon your joy any longer than necessary." He strode from the room so quickly that Stiles wasn't sure he had even been there, were it not for the flowers in his hands.

Erica came and took it from him setting it on the desk. "A wedding wreath," she said quietly. "The groom, traditionally, rises before dawn to pick the flowers and wind them together." She touched one of the little purple flowers, "this is wolfsbane. It flowers all year in Hale. Purple in the wet and cold and yellow in the sun. It can help heal wounds, it can poison if prepared properly, it becomes perfume and dye. We cherish it here."

"It is beautiful." Stiles was silent for a moment. "I wonder who he got to do his dirty work."

"What do you mean?"

"Who picked it all for him?"

Erica shook her head, blonde curls bouncing around. "The Prince Regent would never flout Hale tradition. He would have gone before dawn this morning to pick these for you."

"Why do you call him that? Why not Prince Peter?"

"We are not of an equal class. I am unable and unwilling to call him his name."

"You use my name."

"Yeah, well, I like you." Erica winked. "Show me your wedding robes then."

After he'd handed her the robes Stiles watched as Erica carefully ran her fingers over the fabric. "This is beautiful."

With a small smile Stiles replied, "I'll freeze in it." Erica's laugh was bright and sudden. "I did not know Hale Kingdom was so cold."

"You'll get used to it."

"I suppose I will have to." Erica must have heard something in his tone for she reached out and gripped his hand, Stiles held on to her fiercely.

**

Weddings usually take place outside in a field. The circumstances deemed that not safe, they were to be married in a room in the royal family residence. 

Stiles walked down the stairs alone. Erica had helped him with all the buttons, pressed the flower crown on his head and kissed his cheek before helping him out the door.

In the entrance way Scott was waiting. He turned with a sombre expression but smiled when his eyes caught on Stiles. "You look like a fae."

"I feel like an idiot." Stiles muttered but came up to hug his friend. Scott looped their arms together afterwards. "Let's get this over with."

"It will be alright, Stiles." Scott patted his hand. "He's not so bad."

"He's not so good either."

Scott had no reply merely led them to a door Stiles hadn't noticed yesterday. He pushed it open and Stiles could not stop the gasp from escaping.

The room had been transformed. What it was beforehand Stiles did not know but now it was a garden. The Hale servants had brought the outdoors in. Flowers were tastefully covering every surface, green leaves too. Even the ground, Stiles crunched over twigs and leaves.

He looked for Peter too. The man looked as bored as he ever did but his gaze was hungry where he watched Stiles move toward him. Peter was wearing a fine shirt of dark purple, black breeches and boots. Across his shoulders, covering his back was the pelt of a wolf. Its head sat atop Peters forearms over Peter's shoulders and body covering his back.

Peter looked formidable.

Next him Stiles would look dainty and precious. Scott released his arm and went to stand with the Crown Prince and Princess. Stiles looked at her curiously, it was the first time he's seen her. Her face was like thunder, her clothes similar to Peter and her brother's.

Stiles took the arm Peter offer, unconsciously leaning into his warm body and together they faced Sir Deaton to marry, to unite their forces and bring the Argent Realm to justice.

At least Stiles hoped they would.

**

The ceremony was short, Stiles thinks but he hardly remembers any of it. He knows he said the right words at the right time. He can still feel the heat of Peter's body next to his, he shook hands with the Crown Prince and Princess and hugged Scott and now he and Peter were in Stiles' room standing before a small table of food.

"Are you hungry, husband?" Peter asked, mirth on his face.

Pursing his lips Stiles shook his head. "What I am is cold."

Peter's face softened, "come." He held out his hand and Stiles took it warily. Peter went to the door between their rooms and unlocked it. "Sir Alan gave me this key afterwards. You will have a copy of it soon."

"Oh." Stiles wasn't sure what to say. He let Peter pull him into the older man's room. It was just as sparse furniture wise as Stiles' but his desk was bigger and cluttered.

"Here," Peter's voice came from his left. He had taken the wolf pelt off and was holding a thick piece of material out to Stiles. "It will keep you warm."

Stiles took it, unsure of what was being offered. It felt like a truce. "Thank you, Peter."

Peter smiled, genuinely. "You're most welcome, darling. Would you like some help putting it on?"

"Oh, yes please." Stiles watched Peter as he came closer.

Peter reached up and took the flower crown from Stiles' head. "Thank you for wearing this," his voice was low and sent a thrill down Stiles' spine. "It meant a lot to me." He took the fabric from Stiles and put his arm through, then he traveled around the back and put his other arm through. Then Peters hands appeared over Stiles shoulders smoothing the thick, warm fabric down his chest.

"It's beautiful," Stiles said quietly, hands coming up to curl in the material.

"As is its wearer." Peter remarked before stepping away.

Stiles thought this is the flirt, this is how he beds anyone he wants. "What will happen to the flower crown?"

Peter smirked as if he knew why Stiles was changing the subject. "Wreath." He said, "and I will keep it."

Nodding Stiles didn't know what else to say. He wandered over towards Peter's desk, the man jolted forward as if to stop him then settled back just as quickly eyes never leaving Stiles.

The desk was covered in maps, maps of Hale Kingdom, Argent Realm and Clan Martin. There were markings where battles were taking place, there were notes on scraps of parchment and long writings on scrolls all to do with strategy and war.

"Your map is wrong." Stiles turned his head to see Peter. "Well, not wrong but inaccurate." He pointed at the one of Argent Realm, tracing the border that his father was Warden Lord for.

"Wrong?" Peter sounded strangled. "I paid a lot of money for these." He sounded as if he were trying to control his anger.

Stiles took a step towards the doorway. Peter's face fell and he hurried to say, "I can show you. Just wait." He fled the room fumbled to open his case and he pulled all his paperwork out.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he jumped. "Calm down, sweetheart, we have time. We cannot stop this war tonight." Peter's voice calmed him and Stiles laughed at himself a little, turning to look at Peter hoping to share the small joy with him.

Peter wasn't smiling, he had that hungry look again.

Swallowing, Stiles pushed papers into his hands forcing him to let go of Stiles and take them. "Here. Stiles mumbled and he grabbed the maps he had drawn and his strategy books. "Come on."

Stiles led the way back to Peter's room. He put his workings on the bed and drew the Argent Realm map closer. Then he got Peters map. Placed the two side by side. "Peter." Stiles demanded, glancing around to see his husband standing in the open doorway face full of wonder and amusement. "Put those down, we don't need them yet."

"Of course," he said smoothly before dropping them on his desk and joining Stiles at the foot of the bed. "Ah," he eyed the maps fingers trailing over the details Stiles had added that were missing from his own. "Who made this? It is extraordinary. The details are explicit."

He raised his head to look at Stiles when he didn't answer only twined his fingers together. "Mieczysław?"

"I did."

"Pardon?" Peter's eyebrow rose, surprise colouring his tone.

"I made it. I explore the lands around us and as I got older and after my mother... My father became distant, I was on my own a lot. I taught myself things. When I was fourteen I went through a stage of fascination with maps and mapping the land. I refined the skill over the years and this is accurate as of the last full moon."

"You are astonishing." Peter's face held a look of wonder and Stiles felt his cheek flame in embarrassment. "Tell me about Argent Realm, about what you know."

**

They poured over the maps until Peter’s stomach gurgled with hunger. They each paused and Stiles was pleased to see a tinge of pink on Peter’s cheeks. 

“I have a feast in my room, if you’d like something.” Stiles said cheekily.

Peter ran a hand down his face. “Perhaps it is time we take a break.” He held out his hand, indicating towards the doorway. Unsure if if should take the hand or the direction Stiles simply turned and made his way back into his room. 

The food was still on the table, the fire was high in the grate and Stiles shed the warm buttonless jacket Peter had given him. Stiles then realised how cold it was in Peter’s room, the temperature difference was noticeable now he was standing before a fire. 

Stiles turned and Peter was standing in the doorway, his body tense and eyes fixed firmly on the floor. “Why don’t you clear a space for us to sit and I’ll bring some of the food through.” Stiles offered, Peter’s eyes flicked up to meet his before he nodded once and disappeared. 

Carefully Stiles piled food onto a plate, bread rolls and cold meat, fruits and pastries. He hooked two tankards onto his fingers and picked up the jug of dark liquid, he held onto the plate and carefully made his way back into Peter’s room. 

The man had cleared a space at his desk for the plate to sit. He moved forward to take some of the load of Stiles, fingers brushing over the back of Stiles’ hand. It felt like a thank you. 

“I won’t be a moment.” Stiles rushed back to his room after setting everything down on the desk. He pulled the buttonless jacket on, lit some candles from the fireplace and used the bowl of water from his morning wash to put out the fire. It hissed and sizzled and smoke rose into the room making him cough. Stiles picked up his chair and carried it through. He shut the door between their rooms with his foot and set his chair down opposite Peter’s. 

Peter looked grateful. But he said nothing. They sat across from each other in silence, Stiles felt awkward and uncomfortable. He fidgeted with one of the tiny buttons on his robe.

“It’s a lovely outfit,” Peter commented as he picked up a piece of cold meat. 

Stiles reached for a bread roll. “It was my mother’s, the shoes were my father’s.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said sincerely. “That you father could not be here today.” 

“Funny. He said the same thing.” 

“He is a good man, a wise one.” Peter offers a piece of fruit, it’s dark blue and small and round. Stiles takes it but holds on. “It’s a blueberry,” Peter explains. “It’s good.” 

Putting the blueberry in his mouth Stiles is shocked by the juiciness of it and the burst of flavour on his tongue. “S’good,” he says around it. Peter smiles at him, a tinge of sadness in his face. 

“They were Laura’s favourite.” Peter sighs heavily. 

Stiles isn’t sure what to say, Peter looks so sad and lost, finally letting down his facade of flirtations and arrogance. 

“Forgive me,” Peter asks, “I do not mean to be so melancholy on our wedding day.” 

“You need not ask forgiveness, Peter. It is understandable.” Stiles hesitated. “What do you know of the fire?” 

“I know how it came to be, I know why and know who set it and whose fault it is.” Peter’s face grew hard. Stiles knew he would get nothing out of him without raising his ire. 

“Tell me about the Crown Prince and Princess. I wish to know my new family.” 

Peter resettled himself in his seat, he reached out to pour them each a tankard. He brought his to his lips and sipped, tongue flicking out to take away the dark red droplets that clung there. “Derek is not speaking. He is deep in grief. Cora, is angry.” 

“I didn’t mean how they are feeling about the fire,” Stiles keeps his voice soft. “I meant what are they like, what brings them joy, why did they wear clothes like yours to the wedding.” 

“Ah, well, Cora was being impudent. She was wearing a man's attire because she does not agree with this.”

“This marriage?”

“This war.” Peter clarified. “Cora believes we should just charge down Argent Realm and fight the battles on their land all the way to their fort, kill their family and take the land as ours.” 

Stiles snorted. “An admirable plan but a logistical nightmare.” The idea niggled something in the back of his mind. 

“Indeed,” Peter had a smirk on his face so Stiles assumed he was feeling better. 

The sky grew dark, their conversation moved on, a servant came in quietly to light the candles but the fireplace was left unlit. Stiles stretched and said, “I suppose it is time for bed. It’s been a long day.” 

“Indeed.” Peter stood, “would you like to stay with me tonight?”

Raising an eyebrow Stiles said, “I thought you read the contract.”

“I did.” Peter replied. He reached out and took hold of Stiles’ wrist. “It says the marriage does not have to be consummated, it says nothing about not sharing the marriage bed. I am merely offering, you can say no.”

“I am saying no.” Stiles holds his head high but feels a sinking in his stomach when Peter drops his wrist with a look of resignation on his face. 

“I expected as much, but would be so kind as to do something for me before you go?” Peter moved towards his bed and reaches under it for a jar. “If not I will call a servant.” 

Stiles licks his lips. “What is it?” 

Peter places the jar in Stiles’ hand, the sides are slippery and oily. Then Peter stays close, close enough that Stiles can feel the shuddering breath he lets out float across his face. Slowly, Peter raises his hands and tugs the black shirt over his head. 

His skin, on his right side is a mess of silvery scars, _burns_ Stiles’ mind supplies. He undoes the lacing on his breeches and they too drop to the floor. The burn scars travel from his right thigh, up his flank, around his waist, over his back and chest and halfway down his right side. 

Stiles is unable to speak as Peter stand bare before him exposing himself to Stiles’ scrutiny and his judgement. Stiles looks his fill of Peter’s body, scarred and smooth skin. His thighs are powerfully muscled, as is his stomach, between his legs is a thatch of hair and his cock hangs. His chest is lightly haired on the unscarred side, his neck is thick and his face tight from holding back emotion when Stiles finally looks up at him. 

“What do I do?” Stiles asks, voice cracking. 

“It’s an oil from wolfsbane.” Peter keeps his voice light, “it helps heal wounds quicker. Legend has it that the plant is fae magic. It needs to be rubbed in night and morning to heal and keep the skin supple.” 

Stiles almost drops the jug as he pours some of the oil onto his hand. Peter’s hands come up to hold the jug, sliding over Stiles’ fingers. Stiles shivers from the touch. Carefully, Stiles rubs the oil in his hand over Peter’s upper arm. Peter’s eyes close and his face relaxes out. 

If Stiles trusted Peter more he would have pressed kisses into the skin as he went. But he doesn’t so he won’t offer that part of himself to his husband. 

Together they pour the oil and Stiles rubs it into the scarred skin. Their eyes keeps meeting, Stiles’ hands stroking gently, fingers moving firmly and working oil into the skin. He can see that his husband is not unaffected. Peter has flushed cheeks, his eyes are almost black, he keeps licking his lips, his chest heaving with each breath and his cock his hard curving proudly towards his belly. It would be so easy for Stiles to take hold of it, to bring Peter to his pleasure. 

He wants to. Stiles wants to sink to his knees and take the cock into his mouth. He wants to bite at Peter’s smooth skin and kiss his scars. He wants to push his oily fingers into Peter’s entrance and swallow down his completion. Stiles wants to bare himself and lie with his husband as a man should. 

He doesn’t. 

Stiles trusts neither himself, nor his husband. He knows he would fall in love with the man and he knows Peter would break his heart and he would be miserable for the rest of their marriage, the rest of his life. 

So Stiles finishes rubbing the oil into Peter’s thigh, it’s awkward but he won’t get on his knees, then takes a step back. “Goodnight Peter,” he says. 

“Goodnight, husband,” Peter’s voice is raspy and full of longing. His eyes drop to where Stiles’ groin is tenting his robes, straining against the buttons. Stiles flees. He shuts the door behind him, stays against it and listens to Peter’s gasps, moans and his groan of “Mieczysław.” Then when he hears splashing of water he knows Peter is washing himself down. 

Stiles fumbles with the buttons of his robe and his fingers are too oily to get any purchase he sinks to the floor right there against the door, spreads his knees and tugs the robe up enough to get a hand on his cock. He turns his face into the soft, scratchy fabric of Peter’s jacket-thing and pretending he can smell the man in it as he inhales deeply. It doesn’t take long, a few strokes before he was arching his hips upwards chasing his release. Stiles bit his lip to muffle the noises coming out of his mouth as he comes all over his belly and robes. 

He sits there on the cold ground feeling empty and sorry for himself. He looks around for something to clean up with, having no water because he tossed it on the fire. Stiles gives up and wipes the mess into his robes, he carefully takes off Peter’s jacket and he manages to get enough buttons on the robe undone that he can tug it off, he throws it into a corner and hopes Erica will be able to get the stains out. He flings the shoes and socks after it. 

Stiles stands and shivers in the cold air tugging on the night clothes Erica forced him into last night. He gets under the covers but he’s cold and sad. 

He gets up again, pulls on Peter’s warm buttonless-jacket and knocks on the door between the rooms. It opens slowly. Peter is shirtless and looking at him with barely concealed hope. 

“I’m cold.” Stiles says. 

Peter frowns. He takes half a step forward and peers passed Stiles into the room. “What happened to your fire?” 

“I put it out.” Stiles mumbles, hiding his face in the buttonless-jacket. “When you didn’t like it.” 

“Oh Mieczysław,” Peter’s voice hold wonder in it and he reaches up a hand brush a thumb across Stiles’ cheekbone. “Would you like more blankets? Another cardigan?” His hand falls into the fabric on Stiles’ shoulder, _so that’s what it’s called_ Stiles thinks but he shakes his head. 

He reaches up to curl his fingers around Peter’s hand where it sits in the cardigan. “I don’t want to be alone tonight,” Stiles whispers. 

“You’re always welcome in my bed, sweetheart.” Peter pulls him forward and guides him to the bed. He lifts the blankets and Stiles slides in, he sits up and takes the cardigan off. Peter takes it from him and hangs it on the back of a chair before joining Stiles in bed. 

They sit watching each other for a few breaths before Peter huffs. “Come here,” he smiles and lies down on his side, holding up his scarred arm, Stiles edges closer and lays his head on Peter’s upper arm, his face is tucked into Peter’s chest. He curls up into the warmth of Peter’s body as the man brings his arm down to hold Stiles still, hand moving up and down Stiles’ back.

Soon enough Stiles falls asleep. 

**

A shout wakes him and Stiles tries to get up but he can’t. He’s being held tight against Peter’s body. Heart beating loud and hard in his chest Stiles strokes his hands over the skin he can reach. It’s sweaty and Peter is whimpering. 

“Shhh,” Stiles soothes as best he can. “Shhh, Peter it’s alright.” 

Stiles fumbles around and throws the blankets off them both. He doesn’t know what to do. Peter starts to shake and Stiles could cry. Then, suddenly, Peter rolls off Stiles and sits on the edge of the bed hunched over. 

His shoulders are shaking and his gasps are loud and wet sounding in the otherwise quiet room. Stiles watches him for a moment his heart hurting as he watches a strong, proud man break in the quiet of the night in front of a practical stranger. 

Stretching out a hand Stiles lays it on Peter’s unburned shoulder. Peter’s breath hitches but he doesn’t throw Stiles’ hand off. Stiles moves across the bed, he get close enough to Peter that he slides the hand down his chest, his other arm curls around his waist and Stiles rests his chin on Peter’s shoulder. “It’s alright, Peter, it’s alright.” 

“I- I’m sor-”

“Shhh,” Stiles rests his cheek against Peter’s damp one, fingers making lazy patterns over Peter’s chest and belly. “No need to apologize.” 

They stay like that until Peter’s tremors subside. 

“Do you want to come back to bed?” Stiles asks. 

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep again.” Peter’s voice isn’t steady. 

Stiles shifts, moving so he’s lying on his back. He tucks his feet under the blankets and tugs Peter around, then holds his arm up and waits. Peter looks awful. His eyes are red and bloodshot, his cheeks damp with tears, hair matted with sweat. Stiles thinks he’s beautiful, vulnerable and sharing that with him is taking so much courage. 

Peter gently lowers himself so his head is under Stiles’ chin, he lies half on his stomach, half on Stiles, arm across Stiles’ torso. 

“I used to have night terrors after my mother died.” Stiles admits. He feels Peter tense and then relax. “She went mad.” Stiles explained, hand steady on Peter’s back rising and falling with each breath. “She thought I was a fae imposter sent to kill her. She tried to strangle me, almost succeeded. I had night terrors about her for years.” 

“How old were you?” 

“Nine.” 

Peter’s mouth pressed against the skin of Stiles’ neck in a brief, but comforting kiss. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” 

“When she eventually did die, I had terrors that she would come back for me. My father-” Stiles paused. 

As if sensing his hesitation Peter lifted his head, “whatever is said in this bed, Mieczysław, stays here.” 

Stiles nodded. “Understood.” It goes both ways too, Stiles knows that now. 

“My father buried himself in wine and mead. He would be able to do his job and then he would drown himself. I was left to my own devices. I taught myself things from books. I did not have his attention and I did not want it.” 

“Why not?” 

“When he did give it to me, he blamed me for my mother’s death.” Stiles wiped at his burning eyes. 

Peter lifted his head and his hand came up to cup Stiles’ cheek. “You blame yourself.” 

“I did, for a long time.” Stiles admitted. “It took a while to learn why she was sick, that it had nothing to do with me and I couldn’t be blamed by anyone.” 

“You are an amazing man, darling.” Peter laid his head back down. “Tell me of your home.” 

Stiles started talking about the flowers that grew, the foods they ate, what the people were like and it took him a little while to realise Peter’s breathing had evened out. Peter had fallen asleep on his chest. 

Settling back into the bed Stiles closed his eyes for a few more hours of sleep before the dawn came signaling another day. 

**

The sun was shining when Stiles woke, alone, in Peter’s bed. The covers were pulled up over him and the room was empty. Feeling unhappy, Stiles left Peter’s bed and went into his room. 

There was a breakfast on his desk, fire in the grate and clothes laid out on the bed. His wash bowl was full and steaming, so he hadn’t long missed Erica. Stiles washed himself clean and got dressed, had breakfast before going to find something to do, or someone to talk to. 

As he left his room, Prince Derek was leaving his as well. “Morning, Prince Derek.” 

The man grunted and fled down the stairs. Stiles watched him go, flabbergasted. 

“He doesn’t talk.” 

Stiles turned to see the woman speaking, it was the Princess. “Your highness,” he bowed. 

“Technically you’re a higher rank than me now, as the husband of the Prince Regent. But call me Cora, as we’re family now.” 

“Stiles,” he held out a hand and she took it briefly. “Where are you heading, Cora?” 

“Training yard.” She swept her hair up and tied it with a ribbon. “I like to spar with the knights, the ones that are left anyway.” She sounded bitter. 

“I heard you’d rather storm the Argent Realm.” 

“It’s not a bad plan,” she said fiercely as she glared him while they walked down the stairs. 

“No,” Stiles agreed. “It’s not a good plan either.” He trailed after her, not knowing where to go or what to do otherwise. “It had potential but it would need to be refined.” 

Cora paused in her stomping. “You’re serious.” 

“I am.” Stiles smiled, “I appreciate the direct approach but in war and strategy it always helps to have other plans.” 

“You sound like Uncle Peter.” Cora rolled her eyes.

Stiles laughed, “I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“You shouldn’t.” Cora said darkly. Then she was off, moving swiftly across the grounds and Stiles hurried after her. 

The training yard was tucked away behind the back wall of the castle, an open field behind it and woods surrounding it. Stiles saw the men sparring, they were either very young or too old to be knights anymore. 

Across the courtyard, tucked close to the wall Stiles saw Peter. He had that cocky, smug look on his face, a smirk dancing about his lips and leaning in too close to him was Sir Isaac. Cora’s hand settled on Stiles’ shoulder. He glanced at her and hated the sympathy in her face. “I’m sorry you have to see that.” 

“Could you point the way to Sir Deaton?” 

Cora frowned and her gaze shifted to her Uncle. Stiles looked over too. Peter had noticed them, he hadn’t moved but instead of watching Isaac he was watching Stiles and Cora. Even from this distance Stiles could see his eyes were narrowed and his brow furrowed. Isaac rested his hand on Peter’s arm, trying to gain back his attention. 

“Sir Alan is in that room there,” Cora said as she pointed to a wooden door in the wall. 

“Thank you, Cora.” Stiles smiled, bowed and caught her hand to press his lips to it. It caused her to laugh and he moved away striding confidently across the yard ignoring the knights looking between him and Peter and Isaac. 

Knocking on the door Stiles waited until Sir Deaton called “enter,” before going inside. 

“My lord,” Sir Deaton looked surprised to see him. “To what do I owe this honour?” 

“My husband informed me you have a key to the door between the rooms for me.” 

Sir Deaton’s eyebrows rose slightly. “I do.” He rummaged around in a drawer before pulling it out. He handed it to Stiles and watched impassively as Stiles placed it in his pocket. “Is that all?” 

“Yes,” Stiles turned to go. 

“My lord,” Sir Deaton called him back, when Stiles was looking at him he continued, “the servants here like to talk. Regardless of truth. Trust your instincts and not the words of others.” 

With a frown on his face Stiles nodded once and left the room. Peter was waiting for him outside. Stiles saw Isaac was sitting on a bench nearby, sharpening his sword and probably listening in. “Husband, I did not expect to see you here today.” Peter said.

“I noticed.” Stiles said dryly, Peter’s eyes narrowed but he said nothing. “I wished to see Sir Deaton.” 

“Anything of importance?” 

“Not really.” Stiles gazed around the yard. Peter took the opportunity to step closer. 

“I trust you slept well in my bed, husband.”

Stiles saw Isaac’s hand slip on the blade and he smirked when the knight wrapped his bloody thumb in his shirt. “Well enough after such a late night.” 

Peter’s eyes slid to where Isaac was sitting and his face took on a look smugness. He was pleased to see Stiles goading Isaac, Stiles thought, maybe he liked the idea of lovers pitted against each other. 

“I shall look forward to you joining me again tonight.” Peter replied. 

“We’ll see.” Stiles smirked. “I need more sleep than you appear willing to let me have.” Peter took an involuntary half-step back. It was a cruel barb at Peter’s night terror and a stab at Isaac who hissed as he cut more fingers on the blade. “Have a good day, Peter.”

“Mieczysław,” Peter started, his hand coming up to hold Stiles’ elbow. He seemed reluctant to say anything more, especially with so many eyes and ears on them. 

Stiles softened his smirk into a smile. “I wish to see Scott before he heads off to his Warden.” 

“He is in the infirmary,” Peter’s grip tightened. “He is fine.” He said firmly, “he’s simply bothering our healer.” 

“Scott does that a lot.” 

Peter’s mouth curved upwards, “that he does. Would you like me to show you the way?” 

“If you wouldn-”

“Sir!” A voice called, “your highness!” They both turned to see the knights pointing to a dirty man running, exhausted out of the woods. 

“He’s one of ours,” Peter murmured in Stiles’ ear. “No need to worry. Cora,” he commanded, “take Mieczysław to the infirmary to visit Lord McCall. Let Healer Kira know that we have at least one incoming.” 

Cora huffed but came hurrying towards them. Peter squeezed Stiles’ elbow and moved away, Stiles caught his arm. “Be careful,” he said. 

Peter’s face softened, “I always am, darling. I will see you later.” He hurried off towards the man who had collapsed in the field by the woods. 

“Come,” Cora said gently. “We’re not needed here.”  
Stiles followed her through doors and up some stairs and his mind whirring the whole time. He thought back to the maps he’d seen yesterday. Those woods separated Hale and Argent land. If they followed them across eventually they would reach Warden Lord McCall’s residence. The woods were dense and thick, Stiles knows this from his explorations with Scott but not impenetrable. 

They were soon where they needed to be but not where Stiles wanted to be. He saw Scott, waved to him and when Cora was out of sight going back to help the knights Stiles left Scott helping the healer and figured his way around to find his rooms again. 

He let himself into Peter’s room and poured over the maps, his strategy books. He looked at the notes Peter had about the number of men in battles, how much supply they had. He knew how many soldiers his father was sending, they would be here within the week.

Stiles wrote notes frantically. It was contingent upon what the battle results were. He wrote a letter and sealed it before anyone could see who it was addressed to, how he would get it out of Hale Kingdom and into Argent Realm was a mystery to be solved later. 

He heard a door click open and a voice called “Stiles?”

Spinning in his chair Stiles saw Peter standing in the doorway to his room and then a knock sounded and Erica’s face appeared in the doorway between the rooms. “Uh.” 

“Your highness,” Erica said, curtseying towards Peter. His eyes narrowed as his gaze flitted between them. Erica looked desperately at Stiles. 

“Right,” Stiles picked up the sealed letter. “I’ll be with you in a minute Erica.” She curtseyed and disappeared into his room. Stiles looked at Peter, “don’t touch anything, I have a plan and I can’t wait to hear what your man had to say but-”

“Mieczysław,” Peter cut him off. He came close and steadied Stiles when he wobbled on as he stood, “have you been at this since this morning?”

“It- what?” Stiles looked out the window. The sky was pink and purple. 

“It is evening, I was coming to see if you would join me for dinner. Did you have lunch?” 

“Highness,” Erica’s voice came timidly from the door. 

Peter stared at her and Stiles suddenly noticed how lightheaded he felt. He leaned heavily against Peter. “Yes?” 

“He has not touched any of the food or drink I provided for him at lunch time.”  
“Gods, Mieczysław.” Peter breathed out. He half carried Stiles to the bed, then strode away. Stiles closed his eyes against the swaying room. A warm hand cupped the back of his head and tilted him forward, “here,” Peter’s voice was low. “Slowly now,” he said as he held a tankard of water to Stiles’ lips and helped him drink it. 

They did this for a while until the tankard was empty. Next, Stiles felt something firm against his lips. “Open,” Peter instructed, and Stiles obeyed, then chewed and the burst of blueberry made him moan. “Come on, love, a couple more. You haven’t eaten all day, sweetheart, you need to go slow.” 

Stiles drifted in and out of a doze. Peter was constantly next to him, his letter still clutched in his hand. He heard Peter speakly lowly to someone and Erica’s voice responding. 

“Hush,” Peter soothed as Stiles turned his face away from the tankard. “Alright, darling, it’s alright. We’ll just go to bed. Do you want to stay with me tonight?” 

Whimpering Stiles tried to say yes, he moved his head up and down then moaned at the pain. Peter was talking again and Stiles heard a door close. “Let’s get you ready for bed, love.” He tugged on the letter and Stiles whimpered, “I’ll put it on the desk sweetheart, it can wait till the morning.” Stiles let go, Peter hands were gentle but firm as they moved Stiles about taking his clothes off and putting soft sleep pants on, and the warm scratchy fabric of the cardigan surrounded his back and chest. “Almost there, Mieczysław.” 

Another cold bottle was pressed to his lips and Stiles pushed his face away. Peter’s hand stroked through his hair. “Just a little bit, darling. It’s wolfsbane tonic, it will help. I promise it will help. Just a little bit, love, for me.” 

Stiles held still and the bottle was back, and Stiles opened his mouth, the liquid was cool and flowery and sweet. He fell asleep to that taste in his mouth and the feel of Peter’s body next to him, a hand stroking in his hair.

**

It was still dark when Stiles woke. A hand was combing through his hair and Stiles shifted, disorientated. “Hush, love,” came Peter’s voice from above. Stiles moved. His head was on Peter’s thigh, they were in bed, the candles were still lit providing a low light.

Stiles sat up and Peter helped steady him. “How are you feeling?” Peter asked quietly. When Stiles frowned he nodded over at the desk, Erica was asleep in one of the chairs. “She refused to leave your side.”

“She’s a good friend.” 

Peter’s brow furrowed slightly but he didn’t comment further on it. “Do you want something to eat?”

“Perhaps a bread roll?” Stiles asked. 

With a nod Peter made sure Stiles was firmly resting against the headboard before he got out of bed, Stiles’ desk chair had a plate of food on it. Peter picked up a roll and a tankard before climbing back onto the bed. 

Taking the roll Stiles took a small bite, Peter watched him closely. “I’m alright, Peter.” 

“You shouldn’t work so hard.” 

“I got excited. Something Cora said -”

Peter put a hand over Stiles’ wrist and squeezed gently. “We have time. In the morning after breakfast. We will go over your plan. For now, rest and eat.”

“Thank you,” Stiles said. “For taking care of me.” 

The smile Peter gave him was small, soft and fond. “Of course, husband.” 

“Will you be able to sleep tonight?” Stiles asked with a glance at Erica. 

“Yes.” Peter seemed to understand what Stiles was asking. “I just won’t have any blankets. I much prefer the cold.” Stiles understood what Peter wasn’t saying. The heat, at night when he couldn’t control it encouraged the night terrors of being stuck in the fire. Peter stroked Stiles’ cheek, a silent thank you.

Stiles finished the bread roll and had some water to drink. He curled up against Peter’s side and was asleep again in an instant. 

**

When Stiles woke the next morning, Peter was still asleep next to him, in the same clothes he had been wearing the day before. Stiles realised he would not have changed or gone shirtless in front of Erica, his skin must be sore and stiff today. 

Erica was not in the room but he heard her moving about in his rooms, Stiles slid quietly from the bed. He collected his letter and tiptoed next door. “Erica,” he whispered.

She looked up from where she was setting out breakfast and rushed to hug him. “I’m quite fine, Erica. Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me,” she said equally lowly. “Thank that husband of yours, he … I’ve never seen him like that before.”

“Like what?”

“Caring.” Erica shrugged helplessly. 

Stiles bit his lip. “I need a favour. One that cannot get back to Peter, or anyone. I trust you Erica, I need you to be discreet.” 

“I promise, I won’t tell a soul.” Her eyes were wide and a little fearful but her voice steady and firm. 

“I need you to find someone to take this letter to Argent Realm.”

Erica gasped. 

“I have a friend there, she may be willing to help.” Stiles implored her. “Please, Erica. I’ll do anything I can for you.” 

She took the letter in her hands. “Keep Boyd away from the fighting.” 

“I- what?” 

Erica lifted her head, jutting her chin out in defiance. “I, Boyd and I are betrothed. He’s one of the best knights Hale Kingdom has. He was the one that came back yesterday, through the woods. Don’t send him back, not until he’s healed at least.” 

Stiles pulled her in for a tight hug. “I’ll do my best. Now go, hurry, no time to waste.” 

She disappeared through the servants doorway and Stiles picked up the breakfast foods making his way back into Peter’s room. He locked the door behind him and was pleased to see that Peter was still asleep. 

Checking that the door to the hallway was locked as well, Stiles ducked under the bed and found the bottle of oil. He undid the laces of Peter’s shirt and managed to get it off him without waking the man. 

He poured the oil onto his fingers and began rubbing it onto Peter’s scarred side, starting with his arm. When Stiles had done his chest and was just tugging at the laces of Peter’s breeches when the man stirred. He stretched and groaned in pain. 

“Shhh,” Stiles soothed. “Lie still Peter. Let me do this for you.” 

Peter blearily opened his eyes as Stiles tugged his breeches off, leaving them around Peter’s ankles. He started to rub oil into Peter’s waist and thigh. Stiles helped Peter roll over onto his stomach and he repeated the process on his back. 

When he was finally done Stiles, drew patterns on Peter’s skin marred and unmarred alike. “You’re going to have to stop that now.” Peter’s voice is hoarse and Stiles pulls his hands away quickly. 

Stiles apologises and Peter shifts so he can look over his shoulder at Stiles before he lies pushes over to lie flat on his back. He’s hard again, Stiles stares at his cock. The head has a skin around it that Stiles’ doesn’t have, it’s glistening and damp. He flicks his gaze up at Peter, feeling the heat in his cheeks.

“You really like this don’t you?” 

Peter tilts his head to the side in question. 

“The whole hands rubbing on your sc- body.” 

Snorting Peter bends one knee placing his foot flat on the bed, he stretches one hand up behind his head. “No.” He smirks at Stiles. “I enjoy _your_ hands on my body. I don’t like anyone touching my scars. Most people don’t even know I have them.” 

Stiles frowns. “You said that you’d get a servant to do it. If I didn’t. On our wedding night.” He clarifies. 

Peter nodded. “I would have gotten a servant, it’s difficult for me to reach everywhere. I usually do it alone.” He nudges Stiles with his foot. “Now, are you going to put your hands on me or are you going to run out again?” 

“I-” Stiles bites his lip. 

A loud pounding on the door makes them both turn towards it. “Sire? There’s a messenger from Clan Martin.” 

Peter lets out a curse and stares longingly at Stiles for a moment before the knock sounds again. “We’ll finish this discussion, later.” Peter whispers to him before raising his voice. “In a minute!” 

Stiles helps Peter dress and pulls on some of Peter’s clothes himself, tugging Peter’s cardigan tight around him when Peter opens the door. Stiles feels vindictively happy when he sees it’s Isaac on the other side of the door. Isaac’s eyes dart down to the slightly tented front of Peter’s trousers to Stiles’ oily fingers to Stiles’s groin then flickers between their faces. His shoulders curve in slightly. “Where?” Peter demands.

“Council chambers, Sire.” Isaac says dully. 

Peter doesn’t seem to care, brushing passed him and reaching out a hand for Stiles. “Come, husband.” 

Taking Peter’s hand Stiles matches him step for step. Now isn’t the time to think of sex and husbands and their ex-lovers, now is a time for war and strategy. Now is a time for Stiles to shine. 

**

The meeting with the messenger from Clan Argent, Lady Lydia’s favourite warrior Jackson, takes up most of the morning. Peter has food and hot tea brought in, with a wink he drops a sugar cube into Stiles’ cup while still listening and responding to Jackson. 

Stiles is caught up with the information from yesterday that Erica’s Boyd had brought with him. He sees Peter looking at him, notices the pauses in his commentary where Stiles could add his ideas but Stiles decides to wait and hear the response to his letter first. Then he’ll tackle how to tell Peter.

They break for lunch and Peter says he’s going to see Sir Deaton, Stiles tags along but separates from him at the training yard. He’s seen Scott and Cora, and though they are standing with Isaac, Stiles wishes to speak to his friend. He makes a show of holding onto Peter’s fingertips until the last minute. Peter’s smirk suggests he knows what Stiles is doing and has no qualms about it. 

“Stiles!” Scott shouts as he gets closer and they hug tightly. Isaac’s eyes narrow and his lips purse. Cora punches him in the arm when they separate. 

“Great to see you too, Cora.” 

“Heard you were an idiot yesterday.” Cora snarks. 

Stiles snorts a laugh. “I’m always an idiot. Please, specify what I did that was idiotic?” 

“Besides marrying my Uncle?” 

Isaac shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Stiles ignores him, mostly and winks at Cora. “That was my idiotic thing the day before last. I suppose you must be referring to my sleeping with him yesterday.” 

“And this morning,” Isaac mutters. His cheeks pink when the other three look at him. 

“Are you jealous Isaac?” Cora asks, chin tilted up in defiance.

Scott looks between the three of them curiously, he puts a hand on Stiles’ arm as if to hold him back. “Jealous of _him_? Not at all, I wouldn’t want to be married to the Prince Regent.” 

“No,” Stiles agrees quietly, “you just want to bed him.”

Scott gasps out Stiles’ name and Cora looks impressed that he said that. Isaac sneers. “I already have.” 

“And you want to again.” Stiles says. 

Isaac doesn’t deny it. In fact he counters it, “I will again. He’ll get bored of you as he has with everyone before you.” 

Stiles laughs, loud and false. “You think he isn’t bored of you? What makes you think you’re so special? I saw how he dismissed you, yesterday when you were throwing yourself at him and again this morning when we came out of his room, his bed together.” 

Isaac snarls and steps in close, using his height over Stiles to intimidate him. “He’ll be bored of you soon enough.” 

“Maybe I’ll bore of Peter first.” Stiles likes the way Isaac flinches at Peter’s name. “I can guarantee you whatever happens, whomever he takes to his bed and I, to mine at the end of every day we are husbands. You can have your dalliance with him if he wants, but I’ll be there in the mornings. I’ll be there in the background. You’ll just be a passing whim as much as you ever were.” 

Stiles sees the way his words hurt Isaac and he likes this feeling of power. Scott tugs at his arm and tries to pull him away. Isaac rears an arm back to hit him but Cora grips his wrist. “Control yourself, knight!” She snarls, “you cannot strike the husband of the Prince Regent without losing your head. Walk away.” Cora pushes and pulls at Isaac until she has him walking away. 

Scott is pulling Stiles in another direction. Eventually they come to a courtyard, Scott sits Stiles down on a bench. “What was that about?” 

“I don’t like him.” 

“You don’t know him.” Scott stresses. “You disliked him on sight when I first told you who he was.” 

“That’s not true.” Stiles instists. “I didn’t like him on sight because he didn’t want to let me in.”

“Because he told you that you’d be hated by your husband.” 

Stiles hates it when Scott is right. He folds his arms around himself and grumbled under his breath. Scott laughs and pulls him into a sideways hug. “I’m leaving in the morning. Back to my Warden.” 

“Yeah. If you see father, let him know I’m alright.” 

“And if he asks if you’re happy?” 

“Happy enough given the circumstances.” 

Scott’s nodding wisely not saying a word. “I probably won’t see him.” 

“Your mother will.” Stiles points out and they both fake-shudder at the idea of their parents having sex. They laugh pushing each other away playfully. “I’ll miss you.” 

“Yeah, me too.” Scott agrees. 

They fall silent again and Stiles glances around the empty courtyard and remembers Sir Deaton’s warning about eyes and ears everywhere and decides against telling Scott his plan. “Travel safe, my friend.” 

“Take care of yourself Stiles,” Scott replies. They hug and Stiles heads up to his room and Scott drifts away as well. “I’ll see you on the other side of the war.” 

“I hope so.”

**

Stiles gets lost. 

It takes him until the sun is setting to find his room. There are so many doors and stairs and buildings to this castle. Scott led him away from the training yard and Stiles was too angry to notice where they were going. He also didn’t want to ask any of the servants he saw walking along because he didn’t want to be seen as an idiot. 

Peter’s waiting for him when he gets back. He’s there, sitting on Stiles’ bed stretched out reading one of Stiles’ books on strategy. 

“Uh, hullo.” Stiles greets as he shuts the door. 

Peter raises an eyebrow. 

“I got lost.” Stiles admits. “Took me ages to find my way back from whatever courtyard Scott took me too.” 

“Courtyard? Did I not leave you in the training yard?” Peter is still staring at the damned book, he casually turns a page with one finger. 

“Yes, yes you did.” Stiles leans back against the door hoping the wood will absorb him. “But Scott led me away.” 

“And you didn’t take notice of where you were going?” Peter has a dangerous tone in his voice. 

“I did not. It all looks very similar, you see.” 

“It had nothing to do with your little-” the book slams closed with a thud “-spat with Sir Isaac,” and Peter looks up, he looks both angry and amused but so very, very controlled. 

Stiles slumps. “It might have had a lot to do with it.” He chews his lip before looking at his husband. “You heard about it, huh?” 

“I was there, sweetheart, I saw it.” Peter sits on the edge of the bed. “Cora filled me in afterwards though. Come here, please.” He holds out a hand and Stiles moves to sit on the bed, but he doesn’t take it. Peter doesn’t hide his disappointment nor his sigh. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t like him and my anger got the better of me.” 

“I’m not angry, darling. Not with you anyway.” Peter explains. “I’m angry with Isaac for goading you, and I’m angry at myself for not being clear.” 

Stiles looks at him incredulously. “Yourself?” 

Peter turns to face him, one leg bending on the bed to keep him balanced. “What do you expect from this marriage, Mieczysław?”

“We’re uniting our forces-” Stiles stopped when Peter held up a hand.

“I didn’t mean from our union, I meant from me. What do you expect from me as your husband?” 

Stiles drops his gaze to his hands. His fingers are bare, unlike his father he has no golden band to show for his marriage. Hale Kingdom don’t trade rings. “I expect respect.” 

“That is it?” Peter’s voice is tight with an emotion Stiles can’t name. When Stiles looks up at him Peter’s face is sad and drawn. 

“What’s this about, Peter?”

“Cora told me what you said to Isaac. Even the part about how you could tire of me, and the assumption that both of us would take lovers.” 

Stiles nods. “I did say that. Do you… does that mean you don’t want to have any lovers?”

“I want you as a lover.” Peter says bluntly. “I want my husband to be my friend, my confidante, my lover.” 

“But, you- you bed people.” Stiles sputters out and Peter’s eyebrows rise simultaneously. “The servants talk, the knights talk, the people in my Warden talk of how you take charm and flirt your way into people's beds and then dismiss them when you are bored with the dalliance.”

Peter sighs. "I have had dalliances. Though I am not as promiscuous as rumour suggests. There have been one or two people I have bedded but, in a way, I loved them, cared for them in turn."

"But..."

"I am a married man now, Mieczysław. I would not do my husband the dishonour."

"What?" Stiles says faintly. Peter picks up Stiles' hand, his fingers are warm and gentle, his palm clammy.

"I am a faithful man, Stiles. I do not bed multiple people at one time, I do not have a long line of past, current or future lovers."

"But Isaac-"

"Ah. Sir Isaac did have a place in my bed, once. I am ashamed to say I was more intoxicated than not, he believes he deserves more. He believes he deserves your place."

"My place?"

"By my side, as my equal." Peter's hand comes up to stroke down Stiles' cheek. "My beautiful husband, you have no idea how I long for you to want me as much as I desire you."

Stiles swallowed, unable to look away from Peter's bright blue eyes. "Answer me this then, honestly."

"I have never been anything other than honest with you Mieczysław."

"Katherine Argent." Stiles watched as Peter's jaw clenched and his eyes closed, lines tight at the edges. "Talk has it she was warming your bed and that is how she knew the castle well enough to navigate it in the dark." 

"She knew her way around because she was being bedded." Peter gripped Stiles' chin, making sure he was looking at him before continuing, "but it was not mine bed she warmed, Stiles. It was Derek's."

"That is why he won't speak."

"He feels the guilt and the weight of the deaths of our family on his shoulders." Peter sneered. "As he should."

Stiles felt as though his world was upside down. "How I have wronged you."

"Hush," Peter strokes a thumb over his cheekbone. "Hush, now."

Leaning forward Stiles presses his forehead to Peter's, breathing in the rush of air that escapes Peter's in a sigh. Stiles closes his eyes and feels pain in his chest at the hurt he’s caused. He reaches out and takes hold of Peter's free hand in both of his. Peter moves to clutch the back of his neck. They stay close, breathing the same air for long moments.

"Why do you let people think of you in such a way?"

"As a flirt who beds anyone willing?" Peter asks, voice carrying amusement. "Because," he says after Stiles nods, "it means they underestimate me. I am a flirt, that is true and people are so willing to give you information when you flatter them a little."

Stiles moves his face back, Peter's fingers spasming on his neck as though they want to tug him back closer but won't without permission. He lets go of Peter's hand and smiles softly when it settles on his thigh, Stiles frames Peter's face in both his hands leaning in to press their lips together.

The effect is immediate. Peter moans against Stiles’ lips, opening his own to flick his tongue out. Stiles lets their tongues slide together, slick and wet in the space where their mouths meet. He pulls his head back to gasp in air and whimper out his husband’s name. 

Peter stands from Stiles’ bed and holds out a hand. “If you are willing, I would like to take you to my bed.” 

Stiles looks at the bed he is sitting on. The bed he hasn’t slept in since marrying Peter. He reaches out and takes Peter’s fingers in his. “Yes, Peter, yes.” 

The smile Peter send his way is predatory and pleased. Peter tugs him quickly along until he is next to Peter’s bed, their bed. 

“I liked you wearing my clothes, today.” Peter confessed as he started to take them off. “You look like mine.” He paused and stroked a finger between a mole on Stiles’ shoulder and one on his chest. 

Stiles slid his fingers into Peter’s hair. “I am yours.” He brings their mouths together in another kiss, Peter instantly takes control of. Soon Stiles is naked and he pulls away to lie on the bed. He watches with hooded eyes as Peter strips his clothes off efficiently before picking up his jar of oil and covering his fingers.

Kneeling between Stiles’ legs Peter watches him with a soft expression. Stiles sits up and kisses him because he can. He puts a hand around Peter’s hard cock, “I’ve been wanting to do this since that first night.” 

“Really?” Peter asks, breathlessly.

“Well, I actually wanted to get on my knees.” Stiles answered before bending his back and placing his mouth on the sticky head of Peter’s cock. It’s bitter and salty, but Stiles licks at him anyway. 

“Gods, Mieczysław.” Peter moans. “I want to be in you.” 

Stiles sits up. Then he lies back, spreads his legs and tilts his hips, “yes, please, Peter.” Peter smirks and circles an oiled finger around Stiles’ entrance. He rubs the pads of two fingers against it until Stiles is begging for more. 

One finger slides in, it burns and Stiles clenches and grits his teeth. “Hush, sweetheart,” Peter murmurs and he leans over to kiss Stiles, his mouth moves along Stiles’ jaw and down his neck sucking nipping at the skin as he goes. 

Peter starts to move the finger in Stiles when he’s wriggling again. It becomes two soon enough and Stiles pushes his hips up, trying to get Peter’s fingers deeper. “Peter.” 

“Yes, love?” Peter sounds smug. 

“Hurry up, _dear_” Stiles snarks back. “I’m getting old.” 

Peter lets out a loud laugh and Stiles can’t help but reach up to touch the edge of his smile. He slides one hand up Peter’s arm and the other into his hair. “I need you now Peter, please. You won’t hurt me.” 

Closing his eyes, Peter asks quietly “are you sure, love?” 

“Come here,” Stiles demands and Peter leans over. Stiles kisses him, long and wet and deep. Peter has slid a third finger into Stiles and he gasps against Stiles’ cheek when they break apart. 

“Alright, you’re sure.” 

Peter slicks his cock with the oil, braces himself on one hand, the other hand around his cock guiding it into Stiles. Stiles throws his head back and sucks in air as he’s filled in a way he’s never been filled before. “Peter!” Stiles moans. “Gods, yes. More, Peter, please.” 

“Give me a second, love.” Peter grounds out. Stiles opens his eyes, not sure when he closed them, to see Peter with his jaw clenched shut. 

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked. “Does it hurt?” 

Peter looks at him in disbelief. “Hurt? No, love, you feel so good.” He presses in further, not stopping until his hips are flush to Stiles’ ass. 

Stiles is searching in the blankets for Peter’s hand, he laces their fingers together. Peter squeezes them, and braces himself so he’s stretched over Stiles’ torso, their faces close. 

They kiss as Peter begins to move his hips. Stiles holds onto his fingers and his hair, gasping into Peter’s mouth. Soon, too soon and not soon enough Peter’s thrust are fast and firm. Stiles is whining and keening and making so much noise he’d be embarrassed if he weren’t enjoying it so much.

Gently Peter untangles their fingers to wrap his hand around Stiles’ cock. “That’s it, sweetheart.” Peter whispers into Stiles’ sweaty skin. “Come for me, darling. Come on my cock, let me feel you Mieczysław.” 

Stiles whimpers and bites down on his lip, Peter kisses it from his mouth sucking on his lip instead. Stiles is pushing his hips up into Peter, trying to get to his release and bring his husband there at the same time. Peter bites down on Stiles’ lip and Stiles comes. 

He shoots his load across his belly, he tightens around where Peter’s cock is moving inside him. A few thrusts later and Peter is moving erratically before he slumps down on top of Stiles smearing the mess between their bellies. 

Wrapping his shaky arms around his husbands shoulders Stiles presses kisses into Peter’s sweaty hair. He feels his heart bursting with emotion for this man, he doesn’t love him, not yet but he could and the potential is delicious. 

Peter shifts his hips and his soft cock slides out of Stiles with a wet sounding squelch. He rolls to the side, scarred skin up and Stiles can see the tightness in his face. “You fool.” He whispers fondly, pressing a kiss to Peter’s lips. “We could have changed position if it hurt you so much.” 

“I didn’t think it would.” Peter admits, his eyes closed tight. Stiles shifts until he can pick the oil bottle up from the ground. “I may have over stretched.” 

He pours oil onto his hands and starts rubbing it into Peter’s skin. Giving into the temptation he had the first night and pressing his lips to it as he goes. Peter groans. “Stop teasing, love.” 

“I’m just exploring my husband.” Stiles winks and Peter smiles weakly, his eyes so blue even in the low light. Stiles moves to kiss his lips again. “You’re so beautiful.” 

“Not as pretty as you, Mieczysław.” Peter responds. 

Stiles pauses but moves his hands again, rubbing the oil in. “Why do you call me that?” 

“Mieczysław?” Peter waits for Stiles’ nod before he says “it’s your name.” 

“Everyone calls me Stiles.” 

“Yes,” Peter agrees, shifting slightly. “Your friends, your father, the servants. I do not want to be the same as them. I want you to think of me when you hear Mieczysław, when you hear Stiles, you could think of anyone.” 

“You’re a possessive bastard aren’t you?” 

Peter nods. “Yes, when it comes to certain things, _people_. I am.” 

“I don’t mind.” Stiles rubs his hand over Peter’s ass. The muscle twitching under the scars. “Has anyone taken you?” His fingers drift between the cheeks. 

“No.” He shifts onto his stomach, “but you can.”

Stiles pours more oil onto his hands and rubs them down Peter’s thigh. “Alright. Not tonight, though.” 

“No?” Peter questions. 

“No.” Stiles smiles at his husbands back. “You’re too sleepy. I want you awake for it, so you remember it all.” 

Peter hums happily and Stiles wipes his hands on the blankets before laying down next to him. “Just a quick nap, Peter, and then dinner.” Peter tugs Stiles close so he can bury his nose in Stiles’ neck, murmuring his agreement before falling asleep. Stiles contents himself with stroking his hands over his husband’s skin until hunger forces him to rise. 

**

Stiles wakes each morning and starts his day by oiling his hands and Peter's skin.

They have started to sleep nude at night. Erica brings them dinner which they eat naked in Peter's bed, or at the desk over paperwork. Then Stiles let Peter map out all his moles, or he'd take Peter in his mouth bringing him to completion with his tongue, lips and fingers. Sometimes Peter would enter him, other times Peter would use his mouth and wasn't that an experience for Stiles.

This morning though Stiles has something special planned. He waits until Peter begins to stir then he slides his slick fingers between the thick round muscles of Peter's ass.

Peter freezes in his sleepy stretch and then pushes back against the fingers resting against his entrance.

"Do it," Peter practically growls. Stiles pulls the one cheek to the side so he can watch as his finger sinks inside. It's warm, and Stiles moans in unison with his husband. He moves his finger lazily and Peter is soon pressing back. "More," he demands.

Stiles complies adding a second finger. He brushes the thumb of the hand holding Peter open against the rim where his fingers are sinking in.

The sound Peter lets out it practically animalistic. Stiles hums, curious, "seems easier on this side."

Peter laughs hoarsely. He shifts so one leg is bent spreading him open, Stiles' fingers sliding deeper and Peter looks over his shoulder. "I've done this before."

Stiles stops and stares at his husband, betrayal bubbling up in his chest.

"By myself." Peter amends, the fond look on his face a stark contrast to the pinkness of his cheeks, the blackness of his eyes and his slightly open mouth. "I bring myself off like this sometimes."

"Yeah?" Stiles twists his fingers and Peter jolts. "You'll have to show me some time."

"Yes, love, anything you want."

Stiles chuckles at that. He pulls his fingers free and slicks up his cock. "Do you need to move?"

"No," Peter rasps.

"Promise you'll tell me if you need to."

"Promise."

Shifting, so he was plastered along Peter's back. Stiles put his lips next to Peter's ear and whispers "is this alright?"

"Almost." Peter turns his head and nudges at Stiles until he gets the message and slots their lips together. They kiss slow and deep.

Stiles pulls back to gasp for air. He moves to lie himself up and he sinks into Peter. Air punching out of his lungs as he slides in. Peter lets out a guttural moan. 

Flattening himself against Peter's back and pressing kisses to his neck, cheeks and mouth. He moves his hips rocking and rolling them into Peter's willing body.

It's slow in a way their first night wasn't. They move together in a rhythm, gasping and whispering words of praise into the air between them.

Stiles starts to move faster and he chases his release emptying himself inside Peter. When he pulls out he moves onto his knees and looks at his release where it seeps from Peter.

Gently he guides Peter to turn and lie on his back. Peter tangles his fingers in Stiles' as he takes Peter I to his mouth. He pushes two fingers back inside and quickly Peter is filling his mouth with bitter, salty fluid.

Peter tugs Stiles up by the hair to thrust his tongue into his mouth chasing the taste. Stiles lays on top of him stroking his fingers over damp skin.

"I wish we could stay in bed all day." Stiles says against Peter's mouth.

"We could," Peter offers half serious.

They kiss again and Stiles drags himself off the bed to the wash bowl. He wipes a cloth over his body, tugs on his groin and when he turns he catches sight of Peter watching him from the bed.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" Peter asks, smirking.

"Like you want me to debauch you."

"Darling, you already have. You seed is dripping from me and mine has filled your belly. What I want is to do it all over again." Stiles' cock stirs against his thigh at Peter's words. Peter laughs delightedly. "Come here, Mieczysław."

Stiles approaches the bed. Peter's finger reach out and stroke down the length. "Stop it, we have a war to win."

Pouting, Peter moves his hand to Stiles' thigh tugging him off balance so he falls onto the bed. "That's better." Peter rolls on top of him to kiss him again. Stiles swats his flank like a horse to get him moving. "Fine. I see where your priorities are."

"If you can get your work done quick enough, I may be able to find time to debauch you at lunch." Stiles winks.

Peter smirks and stands. "Will you wear my clothes again, love?" He asks, as he does every morning.

"Of course." Is always Stiles’ reply.

**

It's nearing lunch time and Stiles is in Peter's room when he hears a thud from his. Stiles gets up slowly, unsure whether to ring the servant rope in Peter's room or not.

"Stiles?" A feminine voice hisses and he's through the adjoining door in a shot.

Allison Argent is standing in his bedroom in Hale Kingdom dressed like a Warden soldier.

"Allison," Stiles is so pleased to see his friend. He hugs her tight. "What are you doing here?"

She grins at him. "I got your letter."

"I expected a written response, not this!"

"Oh don't be so worried." Allison glances over his shoulder. "Perhaps, I should amend that. Be worried."

"What?" Stiles is confused.

"That is what I would like to know, husband." Peter's voice is cold and cruel. Stiles closes his eyes to prepare himself for a moment before he turns around.

"Peter." His husband is looking furious. "Peter, hear me out."

"You have no right." Peter's tone is quiet and full of the anger that's written on his face. "No _right_, Stiles."

Stiles lets out a broken sound and as soon as Allison's hand landed on his shoulder in comfort Peter is out of the room, shutting the door and locking it.

Running to it, Stiles tries to open it. He pounds on the door with his fist, "Peter! Please! Let me explain. Peter!"

"Oh, Stiles," Allison is there pulling him into a tight hug. "I'm sorry. I didn't think it would be so much trouble for you."

"He hates me." Stiles wiped at his blurry eyes, hating that his hands came away wet. "Stay here," said firmly. "If that door opens get under the bed. Or that one." Stiles points at the servants door and the locked door.

Allison nodded. "What will you do?"

"I'm going to find my husband and make him listen. We need to stop the war first and foremost. I'll have to deal with my betrayal later."

"Betrayal?"

"Allison, I love you but you're an Argent. Your aunt started this war by setting Peter's family on fire. And I brought you into his home, his bedroom."

She paled and gulped.

Stiles nodded at her and left the room. He banged on Peter's door but no sound came through. Stiles didn't know his way around very well but he searched frantically through the places he did know.

Peter wasn't in the infirmary, nor at the training yard, Sir Deaton hadn't seen him, he wasn't in the council room either.

It was dark by the time Stiles trudged back to his room. Alison was there but she shook her head when he asked if she'd seen or heard anything from Peter's room.

A knock came and Stiles waited until Allison was hidden under the bed before he opened the door. Derek was on the other side. He pointed to Peter's room and then to the stairs.

"Peter went down the stairs?"

Derek shook his head, finger pointing to the ceiling.

"Peter went upstairs?" Derek nodded. "Thank you, Derek." Stiles gripped the man's hand tightly for a moment. Derek smiled sadly and moved to his room. Stiles made his way upstairs.

The room he eventually found Peter in was blackened with soot. Peter was slouched against a wall, his eyes red-rimmed, tear tracks and soot stained his cheeks.

"I didn't think you would find me up here."

Stiles hated how empty Peter sounded. "I looked all over for you. Derek just told me."

"Traitor." Peter hissed. Stiles knew he meant in more ways than one.

"Can I explain?" Stiles asked, hesitantly.

"Is there any way to explain why an Argent is in my husband's room?"

"I sent a letter to her." Stiles sat on the floor opposite Peter. "I did not think she would come herself, I thought her letter would arrive and I could have more time to raise the idea with you."

Peter's head lolled to the side. "I suppose I should be used to it by now, betrayal with an Argent. Apparently, I am not."

Stiles' heart broke. He had done this to Peter. "Allison will kill Katherine and her father will take the throne and sign a peace treaty."

Peter stared at him.

"Cora gave me the idea about walking straight up to their home. We can do that with the Warden soldiers. Through the woods and into Argent Realm. Allison will kill Katherine, and King Gerard if he won't cede the throne to Christopher. The war will stop, Christopher wants peace. Alison coming here was a mistake on her part, entering my room without announcing herself was wrong. Look at the papers on your desk, I've been working this strategy for two days. It will work, trust me Peter."

The laugh Peter releases is cold and slightly manic. "Trust you?"

Stiles closed his eyes not wanting to see the awful look on Peter's face. "Are you bedding her? Is that what is going on?"

"No!" Stiles said loudly. "I have only ever bedded you."

"You say that," Peter begins "but do I believe it?"

Snarling Stiles snaps, "it's not a matter of belief. I have only bedded you, Peter, you're my husband."

"Yes. You were the price for soldiers. A commodity."

"Stop it." Stiles begs. "Please, this isn't you. Stop speaking like this."

Peter smirked nastily. "Oh I think you'll find this is me. Afterall I'm the cold, cruel Prince Regent warming the throne until the mute Prince comes of age."

"Peter." Stiles watches as he struggles to stand. "Your skin is tight, come downstairs and I'll rub the oil into it for you."

"You think I trust you to touch me again?" Peter sneers. "Perhaps, I'll see if Isaac is free. I get awfully cold at night."

Unable to stop the sob that wrenches from his throat Stiles' vision blurs with tears. "Peter, please don't. I'll never forgive you."

"You think your forgiveness is needed here? I won't forgive _your_ betrayal."

Stiles scrambles to his feet, reaching for Peter as he limps passed. "Peter, please. Please. I love you."

Peter pauses mid-step. He wobbles and lowers his leg and Stiles feels the hope rising in his chest. "I think you almost believe that. Pity it means nothing to me." He makes his way out of the room, Stiles' sob echoes loudly in the empty room.

**

When Stiles wakes up the next day he feels sick. Erica had fetched him from the upstairs room where he'd curled up into a ball after Peter walked out on him.

Between her and Allison comforting him, he had fallen into and uneasy sleep, wrapped in Peter’s clothes and covered in soot. He hopes more than anything that Peter didn't seek out Isaac last night.

Stiles climbs from the bed and peers out the window, dawn is just breaking. He moves swiftly and is sitting in the corridor within seconds. He waits, either Peter will come from the stairway or he will come out of his room. Stiles watches the door praying to the gods that it opens.

It doesn't. Peter comes walking stiffly from the stairwell. His step falters when he sees Stiles sitting there.

"Peter," Stiles begins but the other man simply walks into his room and locks the door behind him. Heart breaking Stiles refuses to leave his place outside Peter's room.

Surprisingly Derek joins him. He sits quietly next to Stiles holds out a bowl of familiar berries. "Blueberries," Stiles says. He takes a handful, savouring the flavour. "Laura's favourite, right?"

Derek nods his face sad.

"It wasn't your fault Derek." Stiles lays a hand on Derek's arm. "What Katherine did, wasn't your fault. She would have done it regardless of what happened between you two."

Shaking his head Derek almost drops the bowl of blueberries, his hands tremble so much. "She used you and that's not alright. But what she did, is on her and not you. Don't blame yourself for her misdeeds."

Derek points at Peter's door.

"Peter's hurt. He doesn't blame you, not really. It's just easier to lash out because you're here and Katherine Argent is not." Stiles says firmly.

Derek taps his arm and points at Peter's door again. When he looks over Stiles sees that it's open. He hurries to his feet, almost falling into Derek who huffs a laugh and steadies him.

He makes his way into Peter's room, surprised by the sky through the window. The sun is high and it must be afternoon. He shuts the door and faces his husband. Peter is sitting at his desk. He looks every inch the cold, calculating Prince Regent.

"I've gone over your strategy, Stiles." Peter says. Stiles flinches as his name it's not what Peter wants to call him. It's not what he wants to be called by Peter. "It's very sound. You have contingencies for every possible outcome. I'm impressed."

"Peter-" Stiles starts but doesn't get to say anymore.

"I spoke with Lady Allison." Stiles gawps at that statement. "I believe she is genuine when she offered to kill her aunt. The fact that she came swinging in through the window and handed her dagger over to me immediately may have had something to do with it."

"She what?" Stiles ran a hand through his hair. "I can't believe she did that. I'm so sorry Peter."

Peter stands, with each step across the floor he seems to shed the Prince Regent facade. "I should be apologising to you." He reaches up a hand and drops it before touching, as though the gentle sweep of his fingers would be unwelcome. "I spent the night in the infirmary."

"That's not an apology," Stiles croaks out.

"No, it's not is it, my love?" Peter's tone is so fragile as if Stiles is going to break any moment. "I was unnecessarily cruel. I deliberately hurt you and for that I cannot forgive myself. I don't deserve your forgiveness nor your love."

"But you have them." Stiles says. "You'll always have them."

Peter's face is etched with pain. "You're hurting because of me. I am so very sorry, love."

"So am I." Peter begins to shake his head. "I am." Stiles repeats firmly. "I had time to warn you of my plan. I didn't. I sprung it on you in the worst possible way. It would have brought back awful memories for you."

"I cannot lie and say it was pleasant. It does not excuse my behaviour. You were right, what you said to Derek. I am hurt, and angry and I am lashing out because you, and he, are here." Peter sighed and rubbed his face, he looks tired and older than his years. "I'm acting like a child. Next time, I will listen first and hold my tongue."

Stiles offers him a tentative smile. "You think there's going to be another war where I spring an ally - in the shape of an enemy - on you in your bedroom." 

Peter reaches out for him, his right arm not as high as his left. Stiles moves in to hold him close. "Let's get through this war first, Mieczysław."

The laugh Stiles lets out is more of a son and it only serves for Peter to pull him in tighter. Stiles doesn't miss his wince. "Let me get the oil, you're in pain."

"In a minute, love. There's something I have to do first." Peter leaves Stiles' embrace and opens the door. "Derek, come in please."

Peter moves aside and Derek shuffles in clutching his blueberry bowl. Peter takes it from his hand and places it on the desk. "Derek, I don't blame you, nephew. You hear me, it was not your fault."

Stiles can hardly watch as Derek's face crumples. Peter tugs him in for a hug. The way Derek holds onto him fiercely is hurting him, Stiles knows. He also knows Peter it taking it as punishment for the hurt he has dished out with his words.

"Un- Un-cle." Derek's voice is broken and raspy from disuse.

"Hush now," Peter soothes. "It's alright, Derek. It's alright."

He catches Stiles' eyes over Derek's trembling shoulders. Peter tilts his head and Stiles nods, he slips from the room and down the hallway knocking at Cora's door. When she opens it she wrinkles her nose at the sooty clothes he's still wearing. "Come, quickly Cora." Stiles says tugging at her wrist.

"What is it?" She sounds worried.

"Family," Stiles explains and lets her go in Peter's room first. By the time he's shut the door Cora has been pulled into Peter's arms next to Derek. She's making shushing noises at him and whispering quiet words, cheeks wet with tears.

Stiles moves closer and he puts a hand on Peter's shoulder. Peter tilts his head closer for a kiss. Stiles indulges him briefly before resting their foreheads together.

They have a long way to go, all of them broken in places but together they can start to heal.

And win a war.

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on tumblr.](https://cathcer1984.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I apologise to any Isaac fans, he's a bit awful in this. I can never seem to write him nice at all. 
> 
> Unbeta'd cause I couldn't be bothered to find one. 
> 
> Longest Steter fic I've written, first olden times fic I've written.


End file.
